Let's Hear It For The Boy
by Siobhan Recca
Summary: I've been away from fanfiction, especially song-fiction, for a while, so I hope that this is worthy of earlier song-fictions I've written in this catogory. Otherwise, I'll let it speak for itself.


Watching Harry Potter had been one of Ginny, or more properly Virginia, Weasley favorite pastimes since she had first spotted him on Platform 9 and ¾ all the way back when she was little more than a mite. Even at this point, totally immersed into her sixth year of education at the famous Hogwarts School for Wizards and Witches, hidden deep in the hinterlands of England's countryside, she could still remember how her face burned scarlet as she peeked timidly about her mother's skirts at the tousle-headed raven-haired boy with the reticent smile upon his pale face. He wasn't to particularly garrulous, even then, but when he did speak, it sent shivers down her spine, even to this day. 

_My baby   
He don't talk sweet   
He ain't got much to say   
But he loves me   
Loves me   
Loves me   
I know that he loves me anyway_

Now, though, she felt arms, corded strong from hours and years of arduous practice and effort upon the field of tourney, slip about her slender waist from behind as she stood, leaning against the sill of the window overlooking the playing field. Surprisingly gentle hands spun her about to look into those lively emerald eyes, under the wild shock of black that sheltered the scar that rendered him unique and alone, and above that same shy grin she remembered from way back when. The black robes that he had been wearing when last she espied him where nearly in complete tatters now and they had faded to a kind of dingy off-brown, and the clothes he wore neath where nearly in as appalling a condition, but he was gazing into her eyes the same as she had always dreamed, and with a detail like that staring her in the face, a little thing like the state of his robes was a very tiny factor indeed. Especially when she found herself coping with the sudden pressure of his lips, burning hot and slightly rough from sunburn, against her own, but it didn't last long before he released her to stare befuddledly up at his surprisingly, but certifiablely, roguish smirk. 

_And maybe he don't dress fine   
But I don't really mind   
Cause every time   
He pulls me near   
I just want to cheer_

"Harry's BACK!" 

She could dimly hear the cheers echo up from the groundswell of the populace of the Gryffindor tower as that self-same crowd clattered stridently through the halls and passages of Hogwarts, though right at this instant, those strident cries seemed incredibly remote from the intimate moment near three feet from the nearest calling child. At this instant in her life, she discovered somewhat startlingly that she could do little more than gawk unreservedly at the legendary face of the man who 'would save them all', as the papers loved to claim, with a broad grin plastered across her joyous features. Providentially, instants tend to last not longer than an instant, for she found she had a lurking mischievous streak within her Harry-worshiping heart. 

"You're late, you know." She gazed up at his startled expression with the most serious expression she could find in her vast repertoire. 

"I am?" His voice, still not quite even despite his ascendance into the upper teens, broke on the words, querulously at odds with his confused curiosity. 

"Of course, you are! Do you have any idea of just HOW long I've been waiting for you to DO that?" She shot back, dropping hands to hips from where they had been perched about his broad shoulders. She actually did manage to hold the countenance in the face of his perplexity for nearly an entire two minutes, before she completely lost it and broke down into uncontrollable giggles instead. 

"Gin!" Harry cried, as the laughter penetrated his befogged brain. But that smile she treasured so dearly did not return. Instead, he pulled her close and whispered softly into her ear, so soft none other could hear. Her smile died slowly as the words he had sad filtered into her mind, and she pulled back from, unshed tears glistening in her eyes as she searched his face for some sign, for some thing, ANY thing, that would have told her that it was all just a cruel joke. 

But the liquid that shimmered within his own emerald orbs, did nothing to allay her fears and lift her heavy heart as his head slowly turned from side to side. Ginny couldn't stop the tears from racing down her face in waves as she buried her face into his chest with a sob, tiny hands gripping tattered strands of the woolen robes that dangled from his lean body. Harry simply nestled his chin in her crimson hair with a soft sigh and held her close, silent tears of his own trickling down his face. 

_Let's hear it for the boy   
Let's give the boy a hand   
Let's hear it for my baby   
You know you gotta understand   
Whoa-oh   
Maybe he's no Romeo   
But he's my loving one man show   
Oh whoa   
Let's hear it for the boy_

Hermione may have been peering out over the same playing field as young Virginia Weasley, but her thoughts were not only vastly differing from the other girl, but she also displayed an unusual lack of interest in the cheerful commotion that had aroused with Harry's precipitous return from 'the wars'. It wasn't that she was not thrilled that he had made it back, not only alive, but also in one piece, it was simply that her thoughts were elsewhere. Not everyone that had left with Harry that morn several past had also returned with the war-torn hero. They had known what they were getting into before they left, of course. It was a war after all, and in war people, maybe even people you cared about, died. And that was the thoughts that occupied the frizzy-haired brunette's mind during the extremely celebratory atmosphere that caromed through the towers and bulwarks of Hogwarts Castle, for there was one head upon which she had placed her favor, and it was that familiar face which she could not bring herself to seek for fear of failure. Or perhaps, she was a-feared of success in all the wrong places. 

She hadn't wanted to admit how she felt. She hadn't wanted to do anything that might have jeopardized their friendship. And she certainly hadn't wanted to risk hurting Harry in anyway. So, when they had all, men and women, young and old, swept off into the horizon, she had remained silent with her inner beliefs, and simply stood there and watched as she one she wanted more than any vanished into the setting sun, one amongst many, having parted as no more than friends. 

Sometimes, when nights were long and life was cold without her life-long friends by her side, she did wonder what had kept her from haring off with them on what was almost guaranteed to be the greatest adventure of their lifetimes, though she also realized that she was amongst those that had remained to defend their stronghold, should it come under assault, and she simply could not bring herself to abandon that cause. But she did wonder and, at times when news was few and far between, prayed most fervently that she had indeed decided to climb aboard that outwards traveling train with them. 

Yet she had stayed. And so, clasping the simple charm that resided on a far too slender silver necklace, oft broke and oft repaired that she refused to replace, despite many offers from the jeweler down in Hogsmeade every time she ventured in, she waited and watched. She glanced down at the pendent, clutched now in her oddly dry palm, with a sort of bittersweet smile, remembering it as a gift, not very well thought out, as evident by the chain that was little more than a meager thread, or incredibly expensive, evident only because she had noticed how awkward the carving and setting of the stone had been, but entirely from him, and something purely Ronald Weasley. 

_My baby may not be rich   
He's watching every dime   
But he loves me   
Loves me   
Loves me   
We always have a real good time_

She remembered very well that Christmas the year before. Perhaps unfortunately, though, she also remembered his 'crooning', as only he put it. Everyone ELSE in earshot spent the entire time trying to figure out just who was torturing Ms. Norris, that is until she was spotted wandering about down near the Great Hall. It had been completely and utterly awful to listen to that screeching, but it made Ron happy, so Harry, Ginny, and Hermione had sat with awkward smiles plastered across their faces until he had finally finished. 

Of course, then Harry had made a comment that earned him a swat from a blushing Ginny, which Ron and Hermione had found quite amusing. Hermione, for her part, had tried to pry out the meaning of that rather cryptic mention of get-well cards from both Harry and Ginny, once she discovered that Ron, for once, was not in on the joke either, but heretofore, her efforts had not proved fruitful. 

She loved her memories of him and with him nearly as much as she loved him, but today, the memories were all but bittersweet tears. For, much as she cherished him, her heart's felt emotions proved little shield from the slings and arrows of magical, and at times, mystical combat. One look at the sorrowful tableau presented by Ginny and Harry barely even two feet away confirmed all of her worst fears, and the tears poured down from her eyes to stain the arm of her robe where it rested on the sill, her face pointed firmly away from any who would see or care. 

_And maybe he sings off key   
But that's alright by me   
Yeah   
Cause what he does   
He does so well   
Makes me want to yell_

It was a gentle hand on her shoulder that broke through her reverie and brought her spinning about to stare at the tear-stained faces that stood before her. Eyes green as summer's grass peered out at her from under raven hair and robin's egg blue peeked from behind scarlet locks. But it wasn't the right shade of hue for that red-head and it just brought tears anew to her face. Harry's arm rested about Ginny's shoulder comfortingly, but his free hand lay upon Hermione's shoulder and his gaze was upon her face, as was Ginny's. 

"We…," his voice wavered tremulously, so he cleared his throat and tried again, "We miss him too, Hermione. Oh god… oh god, I'm so sorry. I should have known what he was going to do. I should have been able to save him. I should have done SOMETHING… anything more than what I did. I let him die…" 

Hermione finally broke her self-imposed silence in order to stop the self-destruction that Harry was so intent on inflicting upon himself. 

"Harry…. Harry, STOP IT!" The snap of command in her voice stopped his entire being in its tracks. "Ron… Ron did what he thought was right, Harry. Would he have, COULD he have been the boy… no… Could he have been the MAN he was if he hadn't done what he did?" 

"At least he would have been alive." Harry whispered. "I'm nobody." 

"Ron didn't think so." Hermione argued. "Ginny DOESN'T think so. And I don't think so either! So stop being such a selfish little prat and let the rest of us grieve without having to wonder if we're going to be burying YOU next!" 

And she stormed from the room, tears streaming down her face. 

_Let's hear it for the boy   
Let's give the boy a hand   
Let's hear it for my baby   
You know you gotta understand   
Whoa-oh   
Maybe he's no Romeo   
But he's my loving one man show   
Whoa   
Let's hear it for the boy_

No more tears. She didn't have any left to shed by the time they were lowering the simple wooden coffin into the ground. The truly sad thing to her mind was that she hadn't been able to see him one last time. It turned her stomach to think of, but according to reports, they hadn't been able to find enough pieces. He had been scattered across the battlefield by the shot directed at Harry. If it wasn't for the strange happenstance that he had been the only one missing, they never would have been able to identify the body. Or what was left of it rather. 

Something else that was sad, more in a pitiful way than sick or sorrowing, was that Hermione was no where near the funeral. Instead, she occupied the space beneath the narrow window that peeked from the highest tower of Hogwarts. She'd read about the funeral in the paper tomorrow. Right now, she had no intention of being anywhere near any reminders of his death. So, she crouched in the highest tower, in the highest room, where no one had ventured in so long that dust and cobwebs covered nearly every surface. 

She idly watched as a tiny spider crawled on to her hand where it was pressed to the stone wall. Lifting her hand from the wall, she gazed at the tiny creature, little more than a speck, skittling about her hand as she turned it about. A strange smile rose itself unto her features at the sight, the first she had smiled in the many weeks since she had learned of his death. 

_Cause every time he pulls me near   
I just want to cheer_

"I just want you to know that I DESPISE spiders, in case you've become attached to that DISGUSTING thing crawling about on your hand." A voice that quavered betwixt bass and tenor echoed softly through the room. 

Hermione blinked. Did she just hear what she thought she had? She shook her head to clear it of mental cobwebbing. No, don't be foolish, she told herself, Ron's gone. 

"Hermione?" The voice came again. 

This time she spun about. 

_Let's hear it for the boy   
Let's give the boy a hand   
Let's hear it for my baby   
You know you gotta understand   
Whoa-oh   
Maybe he's no Romeo   
But he's my loving one man show   
Oh Whoa   
Let's hear it for the boy_

And there he was. A tall, lanky package wrapped in clothing that could better be put to use as rags, gapping open in places to show bloody swatches of skin, burned and scarred. His orangish-red hair glinted copper in the thin stream of sunlight that trickled through the window, though most of it was gone now. Burned or shorn free of his skull. His hands where battered and swaddled in rough bandages, long filthy. His feet where in little better condition, wrapped as they were in what looked like scraps of what was left of his robes. He was leaning heavily against the stone entrance to the room like it was the only thing holding him up. All in all he looked completely awful, but he was looking at her with an expression of such longing that it shook her too the core. 

"RON!" she screamed, her suddenly shrill voice lancing from the room as she dove across at him. 

For a split second, she was certain that he would vanish and she would end up with a cracked skull at best, a worthy end for someone who dived at a figment of the mind. But, instead of cold hard stone, she encountered, warm and yielding, if bruised and torn, flesh and his tattered attire. She hit him entirely too hard for his tenuous position and they both went tumbling out onto the landing at the top of the staircase. 

Stars flashed before his eyes, as his head rapped against the hard flags of the landing, but he smiled through it and the many kisses she was busy covering his face with. He had to admit, it was the first time he could remember that she had completely ignored propriety and wounds, so he figured that she was happy to see him. 

Then, she climbed up to her knees and glared down at him. 

"If you EVER go out and get yourself killed again without letting me tell you how much I love you, I am going to PERSONALLY hunt you down and kill you!" she growled. 

Most of it passed in one ear and out the other, but somehow a bit of it lodged. 

"You… you l-l-love me? Me?" He whispered, knocked to shock. He had always thought she'd had a thing for Harry after all. He'd never figured that the object of her affection would have been him. 

"Of course, you silly git! Do you think I would have kept this all this time if not?!" she asked him, pulling the pendent out of her shirt. 

"T-the pendent." His voice was soft, and fading, which finally made her take notice of his condition, as he drifted off to sleep. 

"Oh, Ron." And she shifted about until his head was resting on her lap and her back was to the wall. After making sure that none of his wounds were serious to the point of life-threatening, of course. 

They'd have enough time to get caught up and get him to Madame Pomfrey after he woke up. A girl's got to have priorities, after all. 

_Let's hear it for the boy   
Let's hear it for my man   
Let's hear it for my baby   
Let's hear it for my baby   
Let's hear it for the boy   
Let's hear if for my baby   
Let's hear it for my man   
(continue to fade out)_

* * *

Author's Notes: How was that, was that fun? ;D 'Let's Here It For The Boy' is copyrighted to Deniece Williams, probably back in the early eighties. Harry Potter is copyrighted to J.K. Rowlings and Scholastic, as well as Warner Bros, I guess… The idea is mine, but who knows. 


End file.
